


crashing like waves

by wincechesters



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galra Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22949299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: Keith nods, some unnamed thing softening in his face, easing the tension of his shoulders slightly. For a moment they’re caught in each other’s gaze, until Keith coughs and tears his eyes away, rolling to his feet in a sinuous motion. “You wanna spar?”Shiro huffs a laugh. He should be more surprised than he is, but it’s not the first time he’s seen a post-mission Keith who still needed to let off steam. He pushes up to his feet. “Keith, we just came back from a mission. Aren’t you tired?”“No,” Keith retorts, bracing wrapped hands in front of his body, a ready stance. “Are you?”Shiro shakes his head slowly, a smile creeping across his face. “No.” He pushes to his feet, cracking his knuckles. “Bring it on, Hot Shot.”-----In which Keith and Shiro are both Galra and both members of the Blade of Marmora. Their latest mission doesn't go to plan, so they decide to blow off some steam.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84
Collections: Shiro Birthday Exchange 2020





	crashing like waves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xRainbowDawnx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xRainbowDawnx/gifts).



> written for xRainbowDawnx as part of the [VLD Exchange's](http://twitter.com/vldexchange) 2020 Shiro Birthday Exchange! i hope you enjoy your gift! 
> 
> i've wanted to write a galra AU and just never got around to it and welp. these prompts gave me just the ammunition i needed!
> 
> beta'd as always by the best Meg <3

The mission does not go to plan. 

It happens like this: word had come down from Blade Command that there was an Imperial ship in their quadrant and Kolivan had specifically entrusted this mission to Shiro’s team. _Gather the best of the best,_ Kolivan had said, in that gravelly matter-of-fact voice, crackling over the outdated comm system on their aging, refurbished ship. _We need this intel. We’re counting on you, Shiro._

Best of the best had meant Keith. It had meant his mother Krolia, and Acxa and Regris and Hyxina. A small team, the stealthiest and best trained, the fastest with the best instincts. They had not been prepared for the reception they’d received; the Imperials on board the ship had been waiting for them.

The failed attempt to collect precious intel leaves a sour taste in the mouths of the entire team, leaves them licking their wounds and wondering just who amongst them was the mole who had tipped off the Imperialist scum. Shiro knows in his bones that it’s no one in his team, but he notices the way the rest of them move around each other, slow and cautious and calculating.

He notices the way Regris huffs sourly and disappears the moment they dock with the base, the way Acxa and Hyxina exchange long, questioning glances. But most of all he notices Keith—the lashing of his long tail back and forth, back and forth, the press of his elegant, pointed ears back against the shiny softness of his hair, the tension in the lines of his back. He seems wound up like a top, a spring begging to be unsprung, frustration in the pinch of his eyebrows and the set of his angular jaw. 

Shiro always notices Keith. He tries his best not to, but it’s always a losing battle. 

Keith stalks off the ship in a huff after Krolia, exchanging a few quiet words with her before she disappears toward her own quarters, and he pauses as the rest of the team files wearily past him, turning to catch Shiro’s eye over one slender shoulder. He tips his head up in a silent question and Shiro nods in return, and then Keith is gone, leaving Shiro to debrief with Kolivan. Keith pads across the shuttle bay, silent and stalking, and then he’s gone, vanished down one of the corridors. 

By the time he’s left alone in the white noise of the communication bay, the sting of Kolivan’s harsh words ringing in his ears and only the whirring of the engines left to accompany him, Shiro is as wound up with frustration and anxiousness as his team. He rakes a hand through the white fall of his bangs where they sweep over his forehead, claws scraping gentle tracks through his hair and the fur beneath that tingle over his skin.

_Keith,_ he remembers, and turns on his heel to make his way to the training deck. 

When he arrives, he finds Keith with his uniform stripped down to the waist, the arms tied around his hips to keep the suit out of the way, leaving him in an undershirt that might as well not exist with the way it clings to the lean lines of him, darkened by sweat at his chest and back. His ear twitches in Shiro’s direction when he enters and he turns, yellow eyes flickering sharply before softening with recognition. 

Darker purple slashes cut through the paler fur that covers the exposed parts of Keith’s body, stripes that arrow down over his shoulders, disappearing under the shirt. Not for the first time, Shiro wonders how far those dark stripes go—if they would curve over his sides, hugging the arc of his ribs, dripping down to emphasize the slim span of his hips. He’s stretching, lines of hard muscle etched through the tight fabric of his clothing as he leans into the press of his stretch, a softly sighing groan escaping him.

“Hey,” he calls, straightening up slowly. 

Shiro swallows, too loud in the silence of the empty training deck. “Hey.” He makes his way over, releasing the fastenings of his own suit and shoving it down like Keith has done his. One of the sleeves catches on one of his stupidly big hands—the flesh one, not even the one made of metal and quintesscence—and he lets out a little growl of frustration as he yanks it free. Keith huffs a laugh and Shiro’s ears flick back sheepishly even as he grins. 

“They just don’t make suits for Galra my size,” he says, self-deprecatingly.

“Not their fault you’re so huge,” Keith teases. His tail flicks a slow beat against the mat beneath him and his gaze darts a path down Shiro’s body, so fast that Shiro is almost sure he imagined it. 

Shiro laughs, scraping his fingers gently through the short fuzz of fur at the back of his neck. Something about the way Keith says it doesn’t feel like the taunting he’d grown used to since childhood—it’s teasing and somehow admiring at the same time and Shiro can feel heat trickling up the back of his neck as he struggles not to look away from Keith’s eyes. He’s as big for a Galra as Keith is small, and something of that unbelonging has sparked a kinship between them that for Shiro, at least, had bloomed into something more.

The tightness still lingers in Keith’s brow, in the set of his jaw. His eyes are hot on Shiro’s, the intensity lighting in answering fire in Shiro’s belly. He crosses the remaining distance between them, crouching down to nudge his prosthetic knuckles against the curve of Keith’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” he says again, soft. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Keith makes a frustrated noise, dragging his eyes away. He pounds one fist into the meat of his own thigh, bitterness in every line of his body. “No, I’m not,” he admits. “I’m pissed—we were so close! And to have it slip through our fingers like that— for someone to have given away Blade secrets—”

“I know,” Shiro says. “I’m pissed too.”

Keith eyes him sidelong, giving a prissy sniff. “You’d never know it.” 

Shiro chuckles. “That’s because a commander has to keep up appearances for his men.” He’s always telling Keith things like this, trying to get him to step up and take the lead himself sometimes. One day Keith will have a Blade command of his own; Shiro knows it, even if Keith only rolls his eyes and snorts whenever Shiro mentions it. 

“I guess,” Keith says now. His eyes are still hard but the flick of his ears gives him away, softness in their set as he says, quietly, “You don’t have to pretend around me, though.”

“I know.” Shiro smiles. “But I don’t think you need me to tell you what I’m feeling for you to know.”

Keith grins back at him. “Yeah.” His grin fades as fast as it had come, replaced with a wide-eyed concern. His eyes are so big and dark. “How much shit did Kolivan give you?”

Shiro shrugs. “Enough. Less than I expected. There’s going to be a full-scale investigation.”

“You don’t think… any of ours..?”

“No,” Shiro says sharply, firmly, and looks up to meet Keith’s eyes. “No, I know the leak wasn’t any of us. I trust all of you, Keith.”

Keith nods, some unnamed thing softening in his face, easing the tension of his shoulders slightly. For a moment they’re caught in each other’s gaze, until Keith coughs and tears his eyes away, rolling to his feet in a sinuous motion. “You wanna spar?”

Shiro huffs a laugh. He should be more surprised than he is, but it’s not the first time he’s seen a post-mission Keith who still needed to let off steam. He pushes up to his feet. “Keith, we just came back from a mission. Aren’t you tired?”

“No,” Keith retorts, bracing wrapped hands in front of his body, a ready stance. “Are you?”

Shiro shakes his head slowly, a smile creeping across his face. “No.” He pushes to his feet, cracking his knuckles. “Bring it on, Hot Shot.” 

“Think you can keep up, Old Timer?” Keith grins, flashing pointed canines. 

Shiro’s heart flips, but he grins back, lip curling to show his own teeth. “Think you can beat me this time?”

Keith lunges almost before Shiro gets the words out, darting under Shiro’s guard, fast and smooth as water. He twists, darting in close and stopping with his claws a breath from Shiro’s throat. He grins up at Shiro, his expression hot and wild and fierce. “You were saying?” 

Shiro swats his clawed hand away. “Alright, alright. Seriously this time.” He steps back, sinking down into his knees, pressing the balls of his feet into the matted floor. He watches closely, studying Keith as they square off against each other, his eyes trained on the tight lines of his lithe body. His ears twist, seeking the sound of Keith’s feet, his soft breath, a whisper of air that Shiro only catches because he’s so attuned to him. When Keith moves, he almost expects it, though there’s no tell that anyone less familiar with Keith could see. He’s like fluid slipping through the air, grace and poise in every motion.

For most of his life, Shiro has been the biggest, the strongest, his strength implacable as he learned to use it. Not even Kolivan could compete once he came into his own. He’s taller than Antok, broader too, faster than Regris, and he’s the best pilot the blades have ever had. 

Until Keith. 

Keith is small for a Galra, lean where Shiro is broad, all long limbs and sinewy muscle. He has raw talent and instinct that makes him a phenomenal pilot and deadly fighter. He doesn’t have the brute strength that Shiro has, but he makes up for it in speed. 

He moves like lightning, twisting and darting and filling the room with light. He’s so fast he seems to be in several places at once. Shiro is no slouch and it’s only his considerable skill and his knowledge of Keith that keeps the playing field level. Keith’s foot snaps out to take him out at the knees, and Shiro turns his momentum into a roll, springing back to his feet and spinning to meet the flurry of Keith’s fists. Their forearms connect in beat after beat as they trade blows, Keith driving him back a step only for Shiro to use the advantage of his strength to push back into Keith’s space. He needs every advantage he can get and he takes it, just as Keith does to him, anticipating and twisting and dodging as they move around each other like celestial bodies, caught in each other’s gravity and drifting ever closer.

There’s no one else he can fight like this, no one else he can trust not to hold back, can trust to hold their own. He can strike with his full strength, trusting Keith to commute it, to absorb it, and to give it right back.

And there’s no one else who lights his blood like this, who makes him come alive and makes him _need_.

Through some miracle he manages to dodge the lightning-fast punch that sends one of Keith’s clawed fists breezing past the tip of his nose as he turns. He feels the wind of it as it goes past, and he seizes the opportunity to grab ahold of Keith’s forearm, turning and using Keith’s own momentum to hurl him over his shoulder with a snarl. Keith tumbles through the air, twisting to land, cat-like on all fours. His face is twisted with ferocity, but when he catches Shiro’s eye, he grins. 

It’s feral and toothy, his eyes alight and canine’s flashing. It’s halfway to a snarl, and it’s—

It’s beautiful.

“That all you got?” Keith taunts and Shiro feels his own mouth pull into an answering smile.

“Try me,” he shoots back and Keith does. 

He flickers across the room like a ghost, and if Shiro thought he was fast before, it’s nothing to what he throws at him now. Keith’s breath grazes over his bared shoulder, ruffling the soft fuzz of purple fur, his strikes leaving heat behind wherever they touch. Shiro dodges a kick aimed at his knee, strikes at Keith with his elbow, a blow that Keith twists to avoid so it glances off the back of his shoulder. The tail of Keith’s long braid flicks against Shiro’s side, his foot snapping out to land a hit to Shiro’s ribs that Shiro returns by catching him under the calf, flipping him bodily once more.

This is his opening, maybe his one chance, and he doesn’t give Keith time to recover. He lunges in and Keith only just barely manages to roll away. Keith kicks out with one long leg, catching Shiro right in the ass and sending him tumbling off balance, and then he’s on him, claws out and lunging for Shiro’s throat. Shiro’s eyes blow wide and he only just gets his arms up in time, Keith’s claws scraping sparks along the metal one where they connect, his fingers locking around it. 

They’re frozen like that for a moment, Shiro pressing up with all his strength and Keith pressing down with all of his, and then Keith laughs. The sound is low and smoky in his throat and it lights up that heat in Shiro’s stomach, flames licking at his insides and tugging at him, urging him to move closer, closer. 

“Truce?” he asks, his voice strained, and Keith snorts a laugh, his grin broadening. He lets up on Shiro’s arm a little but doesn’t pull away, moving to brace his hands on the mat on either side of Shiro’s head instead. 

“Truce,” he confirms, looking down at Shiro. His eyes flick over Shiro’s face, and Shiro can almost feel them tracing the line of pinkish-lavender scar tissue that jags across his nose like a touch, following the arcs of Shiro’s cheekbones and jaw before they land for a fleeting moment on his mouth.

Shiro’s breath catches, that heated feeling swelling in his stomach, threatening to overtake him. Keith blushes, pink rising up to color his cheeks under the dusting of fur, just above the stripes that echo the hollows below his cheekbones. He swallows and for a moment there is something soft and vulnerable in his expression before he starts to close off. 

Shiro sees it about to happen, sees the way Keith’s gaze shutters as he gathers himself to retreat. But how many others has Keith ever opened up to like this? How many has he let see _him_? Shiro knows the answer without even having to ask—his mother, maybe, and Shiro himself. Keith doesn’t let anyone else see him and Shiro takes it for the compliment and the treasure it is. 

“Keith,” he finds his mouth saying, and it comes out lower and hoarser than he’d intended. Keith is still braced above him, his hips pressed into the cradle of Shiro’s own, his tail draped over Shiro’s thigh where his legs are bent up behind Keith. Keith freezes and his eyes dart back to Shiro’s face, wide and shocked. Shiro finds himself moving, his metal hand curling around Keith’s flexed bicep while the other slips around through the tendrils of longer hair at the nape of Keith’s neck to cradle the back of his head. 

He tugs, arching up from the floor as he drags Keith closer, and when their lips meet it’s electric and shocking as static. Keith freezes against him but only for the barest fraction of a moment before he moans and his elbows give out and he presses down into Shiro with a hot fervour that Shiro could never have anticipated, that shocks him in its heat. Keith’s teeth nip at his lip, his tongue a hot swipe against Shiro’s, his hands hot where they settle on either side of Shiro’s face. His body is warm and lithe on top of Shiro’s, pressed close over every inch of him.

Finally, Keith pulls back, but only far enough to meet Shiro’s gaze. “Shiro?” he asks, his eyes wide and his breath escaping between his lips with a ragged gust of air. 

“Keith,” Shiro says again, and he smiles. He knows it’s a dumb grin, his big ears falling soft and wide and pressing back happily against his head. He loves his name in Keith’s mouth. He moves until his thumb can graze over Keith’s cheek, tracing the line of one of his stripes. “Sorry,” he says, though he’s not. Not really. “I couldn’t help it.”

“You idiot,” Keith says, but his lip twitches, like his mouth can’t possibly maintain its straight line. “Never apologize for kissing me. Unless…” now his mouth turns down, and there’s the doubt breaking through. “Unless you didn’t mean it?”

“I meant it,” Shiro says hastily. “I meant it! Keith. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Keith studies him and he softens by degrees. “Me too,” he says softly, and bends to kiss Shiro again. 

The training deck is not the most private of places; any one of their crew could come to use it at any time, to work out or spar or just to stretch and meditate. But they don’t, and Shiro and Keith stay there for far longer than is wise, stretched out on the matted floor, exchanging kisses that feel like the answer at the end of a long-asked question.

Finally, Keith shoves himself to his feet, ignoring Shiro’s grumbled protest. He laughs and reaches out a hand to pull Shiro up after him. 

“I gotta go,” Keith says. “Mom’s expecting me for dinner.” 

“Alright.” Shiro tucks away his disappointed sigh. “I’ll see you after?” he asks, hopefully.

“Definitely,” Keith says, his gaze heated, and then pauses. “You want to come for dinner, too?” 

“Would Krolia be okay with that?” 

Keith snorts. “You kidding? She loves you. She’s probably going to be smug as hell when I tell her.”

Shiro grins, delighted. He feels buoyant and light, like he’s filled up with bubbles and fit to float away. “Okay. I better go change though.” He gestures at the half undone Blade suit, at his rumpled undershirt, now dark with sweat. “This isn’t exactly dinner attire.”

Keith eyes him appraisingly, having apparently decided he is finally free to be unabashed in his appreciation, given recent events. It makes Shiro flush and he knows that Keith can see the way the inside of his ears grow pink with heat. 

“I don’t know,” Keith says, finally. “I think it’s a pretty good look.”

“Keith!”

Keith shrugs and grins, unrepentant. “Meet you in 30 dobashes?”

Shiro nods, reaching out one large hand to cup Keith’s pointed chin between his thumb and forefinger. He ducks his head one last time, finding Keith’s lips in a soft kiss. 

“See you in 30.”

Keith swallows and turns to go, and he’s halfway to the door before he turns to look over his shoulder. His tail swishes back and forth, a slow rhythm.

“I hope you’re planning to court me properly. Mom’ll have your ass if you don’t.”

The laugh bursts out of Shiro, a sound of pure joy that won’t be contained. “I’ll make sure of it,” he reassures Keith. 

Keith grins, and disappears out the door to the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! I'm on twitter [@maccachino](http://twitter.com/maccachino) if you want to come say hi!


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